MORE OF SOMETHING MORE,
a story about a salesman trying to establish himself,
a CEO scheming to buy out his father's influence
and the woman important to each
25
“Come down, Delfina. He can’t interpret
away your presence.”
“Must I be humiliated? She’ll
be there.”
-ii-
Downstairs in the mansion a grand
staircase spreads like a bridal veil, on whose marble steps family and friends
gather for smiles and pictures, while upstairs smiles are sequestered into two
camps. In the south side room, the chief executive
officer Stephen Slade assembles his corps of young managers and recruited
investors. In the north side chamber, the chairman Graham Slade confers
with members of the board, his loyalists and his wife. Standing by the window,
Delfina, the CEO’s spouse, gazes over the sloping lawn.
Clayton Clamp felt the tension, though he
was loose and ready for the task of getting closer to his target. He
greeted the chairman and the claims manager, who vouched for his cover as freelance investigator, and observed waiters and other staff shuttling in
and out and between the rooms. The principals were rooted to the spot, except
for the director Mark Storts, the most youthful member of the
board. After watching him leave then
return, Clamp approached him.
“Is it any more lively over there?”
“Quite a bit more,” he answered then
introduced himself. “I’ve designated
myself as go-between for the chairman and the CEO, but it doesn’t seem to be
appreciated.”
“I’m glad someone’s thinking about the
company.” Eyes lighting up, Storts brought his head
closer. Clamp stooped to listen.
“The father-son dispute aggravates at different levels. Employees pick sides then get into arguments that end in
silent stares. They’re afraid their guy will lose and in any case would rather
not worry about things they can’t control.” He paused then said, “When the
baton passes, the hand off should be clean. Don’t hold on.”
“You just revealed your bias.”
“Stephen and I were college buddies.”
“Then maybe you can introduce me.”
They skirted the staircase, passing
through rays of sun beneath a skylight. Storts nodded to a man outside the door
who admitted them, and the difference was jarring. An excited chatter filled
the room as men and some women clustered throughout, attired in business wear
not particular to a wedding ritual. The crowd would at some point spill
outside, Clamp thought, whereas on the other side the walls defined the
occupants who were as rigid as marble chess pieces.
Stephen Slade was by the
farthest wall, standing slightly apart. Slender, polished and
dressed for the occasion in rich gray suit, wide silk tie and pinned with a
pale rose boutonniere, he trained his attention on Storts.
“This is Clayton Clamp, a claims investigator.”
“Claims?” He grimaced and raked him with
a severe look before walking away. Storts apologized but Clamp waved it off. They watched him join a young woman who was looking out the window and were amazed when he erupted. “Snap out of it, Helen, will you!” His face was in hers before stalking away. She daubed her eyes
with a handkerchief. Few paid the outburst any
attention, though for Clamp the exchange was charged with meaning. He went to
her.
She wore a
dress a subtle shade of violet, and had auburn hair that fell to her shoulders
with a slender braid crowning the brow. He strode a step beyond then turned to
see her face, which was pale and delicate and stained by tears. “If you’re the
bride then you better get changed.”
“I’m not,” she coughed, “the bride.”
“Then it can’t be so bad.”
“No, not so---“
Her eyes grew large and then were
eclipsed by Slade’s back. He pushed her, hand at elbow, toward a nearby door,
her legs stumbling to keep pace. Nearby, Storts wilted.
Clamp left the room then went down the
stairs and through the foyer where he spied Lola McIntyre at the champagne
table. He made a mental note to add her to the list, then once outside breathed
in fresh air and heard the strains of a violin quartet from one of the tents.
He turned toward the mansion, which should have been cleaved in two, if reality
were reflected in what is seen. The window where Helen stood was vacant, and on the
other side, Delfina was gone. He pondered whether she too had cried, and
whether tears can bring a mountain down. None benefit when the
magnificent fall; those who don’t know have nothing to tell, those
that do might be struck dumb.
The characters and events in this story are fictitious and do not represent any living person or real event.
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